


The Night Visitor

by Teaandcakes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Deleted Scene, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaandcakes/pseuds/Teaandcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deleted scene on the Sherlock DVD was not CAM's last visit to that hospital room....</p><p>STANDALONE SHERLOCK FIC</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JohnlockInferno (Frakme)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frakme/gifts).



> This ficlet came about because of a headcanon I had that although we have seen the revelatory deleted scene of CAM touching Sherlock, we have no way of knowing if that was the only time he came and assaulted him.
> 
> This is the story of what happened when he returned. 
> 
> NB this story dovetails with BBC Canon and does not interelate with my other fics which are based on an AU of Sherlock's back story. In other words, in this ficlet, Sherlock is not portrayed as a survivor of child sexual abuse as in the Beyond Ourselves series. 
> 
> This ficlet is a gift for my lovely beta Notidiotproofed (Frakme), although I'm not sure it's a very lovely gift given the subject matter and I should stress it hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes are mine alone. Anyway, here you are, lovely!

It was three a.m. The small green digital display on the wall mounted TV glowed, its small certainty the only light in the room except for the blinking monitors. The only noise except for an occasional click on the rather antiquated air conditioning unit, was the hum of the unceasing London traffic outside, far below in the city streets. 

Sherlock lay still and silent in the bed, finally quiet after hours of restless tossing and turning finally gave way to exhaustion and morphine induced sleep. His face was pale and colourless, still, his vital signs still closely monitored for any signs that the second attempt at stopping the internal bleeding that had killed him once, and almost done so again, had returned. The readings could be read remotely from the nurses station down the corridor. Only the two hourly blood pressure readings required a nurse to enter the room. 

John had finally been persuaded to return to the flat. Not 221B, of course, John had moved out when he started living with Mary, in a nice flat, in a nice area, so that they could be Mr and Mrs Nice together. So no. It was to his marital home he had gone, to change and shower and get a few hours sleep. 

Sherlock hadn't told him about his visitors. Not about Mary, who leaned over him and wafted the aroma of Clair de la Lune into the air he breathed, as she warned him, no, told him, that he would not tell John that she had shot him. He had shut his eyes until her twisted face disappeared. And not about Magnusson, who had somehow acquired a pass that got him past security (Mycroft must have known, but why would he allow it? Did Magnusson have dirt on him too?), and who had come to Sherlock's bedside in one of his less well moments, and spoken to him and touched him in a way that was as humiliating as it was delicate.

It was this episode, CAMs revolting moist touch, that had prevented sleep for so long. But it was over, and now Sherlock slept quiet, his dark curls framing the pale face and eyelashes fluttering intermittently on his pillow. 

..............

The door opened with barely a huff of air. A tall thin figure, colourless and smiling to himself, slipped into the room. Door closed. No one saw. No one woke. Ninety minutes until the next BP check.

He stood for a while, perusing the notes at the end of the bed, adding salient updates to his vaults for future reference. Then he sat down, and observed the figure in the bed. His chest was bare, and the area around the bullet wound was shaved, even outside the dressing area. On the other side of his chest, a sparse scattering of hair, much less dark than the hair on his head. Dyed hair? He thought not, his head curls possessed the same auburn colour when the light shone directly behind it. Still, no point speculating, he would soon get the chance to find out if collar and cuffs matched....

He'd taken the precaution of bringing a couple of long cable ties with him. He wouldn't expect to be able to use these on a healthy Sherlock, of course, but that was the beauty of tonight. The detective was brought low to his knees by a woman cornered by her own secrets. And now, he, Charles, would make use of a unique opportunity. 

Was he a virgin? CAM wasn't sure. He had no evidence of previous liaisons other than fake ones for cases. But it would be very unusual for someone of Sherlock's age and appearance not to have indulged. He wondered if he would be able to tell. 

He moved now to the side of the bed, and drew back the covers. He saw a pale slender body. He saw bare chest, bare stomach, almost concave, and he saw a thin trail of that auburn hair leading south. 

He lifted a limp hand. A contradiction. Hands so large, and yet....so fine. Long, sculpted fingers. Nails perfectly manicured. A pianists hands. A violinists hands. A woman's hands. A second hand was lifted and the cable tie looped around. Before he tightened it, he took a tablet and a small flask, and dissolved the tablet in the juice the flask contained. He stood behind Sherlock's head and put the small glass to his lips. The detective half woke, and seemed glad of the liquid. He drank about half, murmuring sleepily about John. Magnusson waited. 

.............

After ten minutes more, it was clear that the drug had subdued the detective's abilities. When Magnusson applied the gag and then tightened the cable ties, Sherlock woke, but could not speak. He looked confused and distressed, but was mutely still, his limbs not seeming to operate. It was perfect. The detective's mute horror made Charles smile indulgently.

He leaned forward and kissed the pale stomach. Nobody stopped him. No one ever did. 

The sheet peeled back. Pyjama trousers, to be expected, Derek Rose, a traditional choice, but probably selected by his brother when Sherlock had to be rushed back to hospital. 

Ah yes. Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. Not just the drugs that makes big brother keep his beloved boy in a butterfly house, dependent on him and powerless....... Magnusson pursued his lips and nodded to himself. He knew where all the cameras were in 221B, and Sherlock didn't know about all of them. Naughty Mycroft. 

It took little effort to push the striped PJ bottoms down to Sherlock's bony knees. Still less for the fine black boxer briefs to join them. Sherlock seemed to be having an internal conflict, his head shaking and his eyes opening and closing repeatedly. As if blinking was going to help him. Charles found it amusing. He looked a little like a hollow cheeked fish. 

Charles now gave his attention to the revealed flesh. Dark auburn pubic hair, neatly trimmed. A long and rather attractive cock, not overly wide but adequately so. Uncut, in accordance with most Brits. Limp and unaroused, but that was pretty irrelevant anyway. 

..............

It was good job Sherlock was so light. For his height, he was seriously underweight. It made rolling him over onto his front easier, and then dragging him back so that his legs hung over the edge of the bed.

Sherlock seemed to waken a little more at this, and started to moan gently behind the gag. CAM thought it wasn't loud enough to alert anyone. 

He took from his coat pocket a small tube and a packet. Then he slicked his fingers with the contents of the tube and started work. 

It didn't take long. The idea was for him to feel it, after all, even through the drugs. He needed to know that he was owned, and there would be no point if he didn't remember anything. 

He took the condom from the pocket, and sheathed himself. He was rock hard since he'd first peeled back the sheet. He'd done this sort of thing many times to those he blackmailed, but rarely had he had access to such a beautiful prize. 

He leaned forward and positioned himself, and licked a long wet stripe up Sherlock's back. Sherlock looked frantic and terrified now, but his body was too drugged to allow him to raise the alarm. His drowsy fear filled eyes met Charles' own, just as Charles' prick was poised to enter him. Charles smiled at him, a mild friendly smile of the man with nothing to fear. 

.............

And then, starting with a single, merciless bottoming thrust, he raped Sherlock. It didn't last long. He was pretty sure Sherlock had been a virgin, or at least that it had been a long time since he'd done this. His tightness caused Charles to come quickly and fiercely, buried in Sherlock's backside. Sherlock made no sound as CAM grunted and thrust roughly inside him, and when it ended, he just closed his eyes with a finality that spoke volumes. 

'You know', he said afterwards, as he finished removing the gag and ties and rearranging the detective in the bed and making sure that all was looking undisturbed, 'I think I was right. 'The Virgin deflowered. Probably best if you don't mention this enjoyable interlude to John Watson. He has enough problems with that bad, bad wife of his. You don't want to wind him up and make him do anything stupid, and get him into even more of a mess than he already is? Do you, Sherlock.' He pronounced the detective's name 'Sherluck', and it sounded like a scream to Sherlock's ears.

He wiped his hand on a paper towel, then touched Sherlock's lips with his finger, and left. 

...........

Sherlock was beginning to regain full command of his body. And the pain was jarring him each time he tried to get more comfortable.

He rang the buzzer, and a nurse came bustling in. 

'I think I'm going to....' 

And was sick all over the bedclothes. 

When John came in at nine, Sherlock struggled to meet his gaze, but he was a good actor and reassured his friend that the vomiting must just be a reaction to the drugs. When John went off to meet Mary and was replaced by Mycroft, Sherlock pretended to be asleep, unwilling to meet the gaze of the one man on this earth who he knew could take one look at him and read in his eyes what had taken place here. 

Besides, Sherlock was no longer certain of Mycroft's support, no longer sure in whose pocket he might be. Mycroft undoubtedly had secrets too. 

By the time John brought Mary and Lestrade back to see Sherlock later that morning, there was no longer Sherlock to find. He was in a cafe, not eating his plateful of pasta, and watching his rapist take the olive from Sherlock's plate and eat it, while all the time Sherlock offered him Mycroft's secrets in exchange for Mary's (and hence John's) safety. 

............

If Mycroft or John had known, had even the slightest inkling, of what went on in that hospital room, then Sherlock's assassination of CAM would have come as little surprise to them. 

But they needed to be surprised, in order for him to get the chance to kill the man. 

And afterwards, he needed them not to know, in order for him to be able to have the strength to button up his shirt each day, put on his suit, and continue to live. 

They must not know. They need not know. 

CAM was dead.


End file.
